Midnight Reflections
by dancingkatz
Summary: Tonks has been keeping a secret...for a long time.


**Author's Note:** _This story was originally written shortly after I discovered Tonk's mother was Narcissa's sister. It's obviously AU now, given the additional information we get about her in "The Half-Blood Prince." That in mind, I hope youi find it a good read._

**Disclaimer:** _Nymphadora Tonk and all other recognizable characters and events belong to J.K. Rowling, her publishers and licencees. Anything you don't recognize belongs to me._

**Midnight Reflections**

_By Dancingkatz_

The meeting is _finally_ over and I'm almost asleep on my feet--which is not a good thing. I tell everyone goodnight and climb the stairs to the third floor hoping that I can get to my room without a mishap that will bring everyone running.

I managed to get into my room before my control broke and I felt my body shift. I watched the change in the mirrors that line the walls of my room. I know Molly thinks I'm either incredibly vain or a perverted voyeur. But I _need_ the mirrors. If I didn't have them I'd never be sure that I look the way I intended. If there was some way to keep one with me at all times I'd do it.

She'd tsked when I had the twins carry them upstairs. Given my apparent propensity for clumsiness I'm sure she thought she'd wake up one morning to find me impaled on the shards of one or more of them. They're not wizard mirrors, the last thing I need is a bunch of chatty mirrors telling everyone and the house elves the truth.

But I can tell myself the truth. I have to.

There aren't very many metamorphmagi around these days. I can only think of three others in Britain and maybe a half dozen more elsewhere in the world. None of us ever shows our real face to the world if we can help it. But my reason isn't the same as the others. Frankly, the others are pretty hideous looking in their natural form, victims of bad genetics or accidents or just nature in a bad mood.

I look hard at my reflection as the clock in the hall strikes midnight. Cinderella's ballgown turned back to rags at this time (they didn't have to though; her "fairy godmother" was just on a power trip) but for me it's just the opposite.

Everyone thinks they know the "real" me: pink hair, a pale heart-shaped face, a too pointy nose and dark eyes on a gawky, thin frame. But they don't. The real me is standing right here looking back at me with eyes the color of a Caribbean sea under gold brows on a face that makes the current Miss Magic look plain. My real hair falls to my hips in thick waves of heavy gold. No one's seen this me in years. And if I'm careful no one ever will. Until I'm ready to show them.

I became an animorphmagus after the worst night of my life. It was the way I looked that caused everything, that made a man hurt me. _No, tell the truth, Nymphadora. It's just you and the mirrors here. Be honest._

Made him rape me.

He was horrified afterwards, of course. How could he do _that_ to a 10-year old girl? No, it _had _to be a spell. A curse. It was anything and everything except his fault.

It was _my_ fault. If I didn't look the way I did he wouldn't have even thought of touching me.

No one would believe me if I told them the truth. Even if I'd taken _veritaserum_, they'd have thought the potion was faulty rather than believe the truth.

Once I realized why it happened I swore it would never happen again. I concentrated so hard on being not pretty that it happened. I changed. It took long enough and was so gradual that no one in my family really noticed anything, and by the time I got my letter saying I'd been accepted at Hogwarts my aunts and older sisters were offering tea and sympathy that I'd not ended up with the family good looks. My oldest sister even tried dying my hair so it would look more normal when I went away to school.

I was smart enough to leave it dyed for a while but it started to fade within a week and my pink hair was back in time for me to board the Hogwarts Express. I knew I'd get teased but it was safer than letting myself go back to the way I'd been. I'd learned my lesson the hard way. Beauty only got you hurt.

I'd discovered that when I slept my appearance changed back so I was resolved to be the last one in my dorm to sleep and the first to rise in the morning. And this clumsiness that makes my name such a joke is a byproduct of having to concentrate to keep my chosen face intact.

If I hadn't been using magic to hide myself I probably would have got better marks in school. But lack of sleep, felonious clumsiness, and having to make sure not to change back when people were there to see doesn't help one's concentration. I managed to do well enough to be accepted for Auror's training when I left school in spite of breaking a record number of dishes, damaging books, and ruining innumerable potions every week.

Actually, I know who got me in to training. It was done as a favor to my Dad's Uncle Martin when he was in St. Mungos dying of the after effects of an irreversible curse.

Great-Uncle Martin had been part of a team of Aurors who had phenomenal luck getting Deatheaters of the streets and into Azkaban. He'd even worked with the legendary Longbottoms before they were put on the disabled rolls. The Ministry seemed to feel they owed him and so the rules were stretched (if not actually broken) to let me go into training. I suppose that he thought by doing this he'd give me a livelihood since the odds of me getting married off like my sisters and cousins were slim to none. Pink haired klutzes don't make a strong showing in the marriage market.

Not that I ever wanted to get married after _that_ night.

So here I am, Nymphadora Tonks, Auror and the best fabricator of lies in the wizarding world. Who happens to be a reasonably useful asset since I can change the way I look at will.

Kingsley says that we're getting close to the real war now. I'm actually looking forward to it. I know my job is to protect Harry, but if I get the chance I'm going to take out one particular person. He thinks that I don't remember. He thinks I'm a joke. Well, the joke's going to be on him.

The last thing Uncle Lucius is going to see is the real me before he finally pays for what he did.


End file.
